Raven
by juliasejanus
Summary: Raven: A male agent employed to seduce people for intelligence purposes
1. Chapter 1

Supreme Court Judge Michael Dean was conducting the review into Covert Operations after the publication of Edward Pleasure's damning piece on the use of a teenage operative by the CIA and MI6. The unnamed fifteen year old agent had disappear nine months ago used in a Honey Trap, which had gone spectacularly wrong. The journalists article had been a major embarrassment to British, American and Australian governments. The boy in question officially presumed dead. His enquiry was going to be damning, but Joe Byrne was an alias, the actual operative had retired, hidden from any repercussions. Not so his counterparts in London and Sydney, Blunt was facing jail for child endangerment of his legal ward and Australians suspension of black ops, was a ruse as their dirty tricks division morphed into another subsection still acting beyond the law.

...

Everything went wrong again on the 29th August, four days before Alex was due to start High School with Sabina. His promised new life was a nonstarter. There were a team of FBI agents in the Pleasures house in Rockridge, following a serious security alert. SCORPIA never forgave and never forgot.

"Are Edward, Liz and Sabina targets?" Alex knew only by association with him as Cray was long dead and Edward was back writing articles not any huge exposé.

"We are only instructed to take you into protective custody, Alex. The exact nature of the threat is on a need to know basis and I'm afraid I do not have high enough clearance for the full Department of Homeland Security briefing. You have been assessed as a high risk target as of midnight last night."

The fifteen year old sighed and stood up. "I'm going upstairs to pack. It won't take long, just one bag of stuff." They had planned a shopping trip on Saturday for school things and a new wardrobe, to disguise Alex as a relative of Liz's, his present alias as Alexander Rothbury was now burned.

The room was clean and tidy, unlike Sabina's bomb site. He stripped off the bedding and turned over the mattress. He pulled the few items of clothing in the closet into his small rucksack. He left the books as he'd read them and he no longer had any old photographs, items all left in storage in London. His spare trainers were downstairs. Toothbrush and a small bag of toiletries, a comb were picked up from the bathroom. He had no phone, nor a computer. The last few items were pulled from the laundry basket and put in a plastic bin bag, to be washed at the safe house. He pulled his coat out of the hall closet and said emotionlessly. "Right I'm ready to go." He was spared having to say goodbye to Sabina and Liz as they were out riding this morning. The agents busied themselves with code words and arranging a decoy vehicle. Looked like they were going out the back door with a car parked around by their neighbours house. "Bye Edward, Thanks for everything. I probably won't be able to keep in contact, as that's how witness protection works. Love to Liz and Sabina. Sorry about this." It was a mess, but Alex's life was. Better he left and the Pleasures lived long and happy lives. Better than Jack's fate. Alex wondered if he should change into a red shirt, as all he could imagine was the bullet hitting as he exited the house.

The FBI lead joked being the kid was tense, white as a sheet and visibly scared. "Its just protocol, kid. Nothing bad is going to happen."

Alex was tempted to laugh like a hyena, but just smiled darkly. "I was shot in the chest by a sniper ten months ago and two months ago my last guardian was incinerated by a car bomb. The worst has already happened and surviving is becoming a chore."

…..

LA was a huge urban sprawl of low houses in all directions. Perfect place for hiding a kid with two agents acting as mom and dad. Alex looked out from his attic room window, over the well lit neighbours and felt like running. Only ten or so miles from Bel Air and the mansion where Cassian James lived, only Alex would never put a friend in the firing line again, not since Tom got shot. He did not feel like sleeping, in fact he hated the knowledge that nightmares would be a certainty. His mind already worrying about the family he'd been forced to leave, the Pleasures who had offered to adopt him. Tears came but he wrapped his hands tightly over his mouth so no sounds emerged.

Alex laid on the bed and every forty minutes or so gazed at the illuminated radio alarm's clock. At 6AM he got up and went downstairs to start his new life, not really caring about another new name.

"Morning Agents."

"Its Kath and Mike, Xander."

"Not Xander, which is about as dorky as Alexander. I'd prefer Lex or Lexie."

"We were informed you knew the ropes concerning aliases." huffed Mike over the kids non-compliance with the house rules as stated last night.

Alex made no attempt to mimic an American accent, nor was he going to answer to Xander Carson. "Legends are old hat. Personally, I just want the bastards to find me and do the job properly. Nice bomb for a quick exit like the one that killed Jack or my parents. Got the one in Nice wrong, considering Edward is still breathing. Though Uncle Ian's two bullets in the head wasn't too shabby. Just a word of warning, don't get in the way." Alex then noted the box of Cheerios on the counter and went to find a bowl, spoon and milk.

As he trudged back upstairs to his room with his breakfast, the teenager was amusing to overhear Kath on her mobile spouting the words 'suicidal' and 'severely depressed'. Maybe he'd be sent to a loony bin, to spend the rest of his days in drugged out haze.

Alex got was that he was here on house arrest. No going outside, no interaction with anyone but his new 'parents'. He had no books, no interest in the tv, which was the only source of outside information in the house. His room sterile and was unlikely to ever feel like home. He pulled a pen out of his bag and on the bad green wallpaper inscribed a line for the first day of his exile from life. He quietly said to himself "They should have called me Edmond Dantes."

It was at lunch, tuna sandwiches, that Alex asked the all important question. "Are you ever going to tell me what the threat is or am I going to be kept in the dark?"

Mike put his sandwich down and took a long drink of his low alcohol beer. "As my boss Kath is not here, I can level with you, seeing as its your life on the line. The high security is temporary. MI6 fucked up and should have the situation under control within days. They had a prison break, from the place serious bad guys go, the ones that don't appear on any documentation. High up SCORPIA agent they've held for two years absconded."

Alex felt like vomiting and blurted out "Yassen Gregorovich. I was told he died on Air Force One."

"Right, the Cray business. Cray was SCORPIA? That I did not know."

"Not really only paid for their services. Just hired Yassen in for cleaning up, as we crossed paths in Nice and London." Alex could only hope Yassen did not hold him responsible for his imprisonment and the unfortunate incidents with Rothmans and Rahzim.

Alex then left his lunch untouched and went back upstairs.

….

At four he was woken up by the shout of "You told him!" from Kath, followed by the lead agent screaming upstairs "Lex, Downstairs now."

At least the Xander nickname had been binned. "You called, mom." He stated in a mock American accent.

"I take it from Mike that you know why it is imperative not to act rashly and that we need to keep a very low profile." The woman stated earnestly, her cover stated she worked as a minor clerk downtown. Mike was supposedly caring for their son with serious allergies. Alex reminded of the quote from some movie he'd watched with Tom in the good old days "Allergic to bullets!"

…..

Yassen Gregorovich never existed, Cossack, the infamous SCORPIA assassin was presumed dead and Yasha had died in a Dacha on the outskirts of Moscow twenty years ago. Who was he now? hunter had told him he could be whoever he wanted to be. He was luckier than Hunter, he was alive. SCORPIA now reduced to two surviving board members, after he had killed Duvall and Shackell. The Grimaldis and Chase liquidated by Agents working for Dr. Three. With an interpol alert on his escape, Cossack was a wanted man by friend and foe alike.

Albert 'Seamus' Doherty woke to feel the ropes binding his wrists and ankles.

The soft, accentless diction of his past associate broke the silence "Are you willing to help an old friend? You are wanted by Interpol, the Americans and your old friends in the IRA. I have a heavy bounty on my own head. Together, we can survive this storm."

A single pool of light from the hall illuminated the bedroom in this not so safe house, his assailant was hidden in the shadows, but the SCORPIA board member knew the voice of the assassin, formerly SCORPIA's most successful and ruthless killer. "You are delusional if you think Dr. Three will leave either of us alive, Cossack."

The Russian moved into light. "Not if we prove ourselves truly ruthless and rise from the ashes to become either reluctant allies or formidable foes to the good doctor. We do not have the luxury of retirement, it is either fight or die. I found my death most inconvenient and I must repay MI6 in kind for their less than stellar hospitality."


	2. Chapter 2

Only six months since Alex had left in protective custody and the teenager was now missing presumed dead. Those words burned like acid in Edward Pleasure's gut, the boy whom Liz and he had decided to invite into their family, to adopt, after Alex had grieved for his beloved Jack. He poured himself another glass of merlot and looked at the photo of Alex and Sabina, so young, so innocent, happy before the assassination attempts, kidnapping and horror. The family now living in Sweden, far from the bastards who had used and abused Alex. He went back to editing his new article, an expose of SCORPIA. Printing the facts was likely to get a new target painted on the journalist's back, but that criminal organisation had ruined the lived of tens of thousands across the globe not just Alex's. For the first time, all the board members, past and present, were being named along with their crimes.

Edward whispered to break the silence in his office 'For you, Alex.'

…..

Two weeks to Halloween and Edward was home alone, his wife and Sabina away for the weekend shopping in New York. He had made his deadline on his last piece, detailed piece on a minor politician hoping to be President. Another deeply flawed example of humanity, after power and glory; a man who had a bored, lush as a wife, was screwing his assistant and with a drug addicted son barely passing his college courses.

After 5 hours editing and rewriting, he was bone tired, his leg ached and he went into the kitchen to take two painkillers and have a nightcap of decent whisky to ensure 12 hours of uninterrupted sleep. Truth was he had not slept well since Alex had moved on. Was Alex happy? Was he in school? Was he getting therapy? Edward scrawled another letter to their missing family member, to join the pile of unsent communications. In two days, postcards from Liz and Sabina would join the pile.

He went upstairs with a heavy heart. Tomorrow was another day, there was a slim hope that the family would be reunited.

Outside in a stolen utilities van sat Cossack, through state of the art bugging equipment he listened as the only occupant of the house slept, before disabling the security and entering the journalist's office. No clues to Alex's whereabouts, but he did not expect any. In the kitchen the Russian read the letters that could not be sent. Upstairs, the daughter's journal kept safe under the girl's pillow, listed the full details of Alex's short stay with the family and the fact he was in protective custody. On the sleeping man's beside table was a goodbye letter hastily written in Alex's messy scrawl the brief message of regret and gratitude for the brief possibility of a normal life. In the room formerly occupied by Alex, the SCORPIA operative noted the slight bump in the carpet in the closet with the loose floor board beneath. There was Cossack's flash drive, left in Alex's possession over a year before.

The cruel turn of fate was that Cossack's escape from MI6 custody had been the excuse to destroy Alex's chance of normal life with this family. Alex had stated in his letter to the journalist and his wife that his brief fostering was always a pipedream, MI6 and the CIA had their claws in him and they would use any means necessary to keep control of their weapon and use him. Leaving was for the best as his handlers could not use the Pleasure's to blackmail him into compliance.

All items were returned to their proper places, except the flash drive. The Russian left no trace of his brief visit. He had other avenues to find Alex. He had to prevent Alex following the same road as John, as MI6 and the CIA would force Alex back into espionage work and Alex would likely be dead before his 18th birthday. He bitterly thought that he might already be too late.

…..

What had changed in the last two months, precisely nothing. Alex was bored beyond belief. He spent his hours exercising in his room or on the treadmill and weights in the basement. Most of the dead hours were utilised catching up on school work, including burning the midnight oil as his insomnia was as bad as ever. International GCSE syllabus by distance learning rather than bothering with the change over to the American High School syllabus. Diligently making up for weeks of missed school with sheer determination on his part as his relationship with CIA Mom and Dad was almost non-existent. He went down for meals, said nothing and returned to his room. In one aspect of his life imitating that of a normal teenage boy.

It was early on Saturday just before Halloween that everything changed again. The teenager woke and there were two cars parked outside and visitors downstairs. The TV was on loud enough for Alex not to be able to listen in. He stayed out of the way, missing breakfast, not wanting to awful truth that everything was going to get worse.

He was sat on the bed meditating, when Kath knocked and came in, "You need to pack, you're being moved to Washington."

Dutifully, Alex did as he was told and again packed his small bag. Afterwards, the teenager came downstairs with all his worldly goods to see Joe Byrne in the kitchen drinking coffee. "Hello again, Agent Rider."

"Morning, Joe. Here to blackmail me back into black ops?" Alex saw the box of donuts and helped himself to a vanilla frosted one.

Joe laughed "We need your intel on Gregorovich. Your old employers have been less than truthful with us and we would like to know what we are up against."

The teenager ignored the fact they wanted him to grass up Yassen, the assassin who had been cruel, but also brutally honest. "So, what's changed you called me agent, can I dare to assume I'll get paid. I know you should never assume anything."

Then grey haired deputy director of the CIA drank coffee and tried to bargain with a teenager with brilliant career in espionage already. "Yeah, well MI6 do owe you 20 months back pay. We are offering you a starting salary of Grade 5 pro rota. So, technically you're Mike's boss and on equal grade with Kath. As such you should make director by 22."

Pulling milk from the fridge and drinking straight from the carton without a care, he played up his age to his audience. All promises from on high that he was safe and no longer an asset had obviously died with Jack. "Ha Ha. What happened to retired at 15 after the McCain business? Is that deal rescinded because MI6 manipulated me to go to Cairo, so I have no choice but to go back in the game? You do know that as a teen agent, my usefulness has a time limit."

Mike watched the kid who had not spoken more than three words in eight weeks have a full spat with their boss.

"You are the leading expert on SCORPIA, things are going down and we need to give our analysts something to work with."

Alex sat down to face that man who held all the cards concerning his future, "All my info is a year out of date concerning Gregorovich."

Byrne was totally frank as he outlined the worst case scenario facing the CIA and MI6. "Psych profiling is our top priority, we need to stop SCORPIA rising to prominence again."

….

At Langley, Alex had high enough clearance to finally get to know the full awful truth about Yassen. A man who had survived the bullet in the chest, with a collapsed lung, like his own near death experience as the bullet missed the Russian's heart, but luckily the man's pulmonary system as well. Cossack had consequently been imprisoned, first in Gibraltar and then the Inner Hebrides, and had escaped on the 21st August. He listened intently to the presentation then read the full file on Yassen's known modus operandi. Now he had the choice to come clean or continue to hold on to the few secrets he had kept about this killer. "Your file is rather short on facts. Yassen's parents were biochemists, dissidents, in effective internal exile forced to produced a deadly version of anthrax as a biological weapon. There was an outbreak and his dad gave him the only dose of inoculation. He escaped the authorities but was effectively a slave for a guy SCORPIA liquidated two years down the line, he helped the assassin and escaped to Malagosto. My father was then undercover as an assassin and top level instructor at SCORPIA, an agent undercover for MI6. Yasser and my dad, well they were partners for nearly a year. Right, you need to know if he has a weakness and I think Joe was playing a hunch that I can answer that question." Yassen's achilles heel was Alex. "You know he refused to kill me on both SCORPIA's and Crays's direct order. So I take it I'm here just to confirm that fact or am I going to be bait to bring Gregorovich in?"

The tall thin woman, the CIA liaison with Homeland Security was staring at Alex. Her name tag stated she was Luisa Germann. "Mr. Rider, we have a new policy of zero tolerance with threats to national security post 9/11. The fact Gregorovich has regrouped with the surviving SCORPIA board members means their removal is one of our agencies top priorities. Our colleagues in China have assured us Dr. Three can be brought to heel as he is only loosely affiliated with Gregorovich. The Russian is a loose canon and he has the ability to resurrect SCORPIA." The woman, who seemed to be a close cousin of John Crawley then explained "MI6 had dismissed Yassen as merely a tool, a low level threat without any organisation giving orders and would be out for revenge against you first and foremost. The Russian has spent two months, not chasing his old mentor's son, but liquidating unsympathetic board members and recruiting those who wish to resurrect their criminal organisation. Zeljan Kurst is dead as are the Grimaldi's but the he has been in Libya, Afghanistan and North Korea drumming up trade. We need to nip this in the bud before they start training new operatives."

Alex knew he had once again been suckered into a no win situation, no win for him and no win for Yassen. A situation that he would bet would leave to both their deaths. Alex would be offered up as a sacrificial lamb, but all things considered he really had no other options, his escape routes were all well and truly burned. "OK, bait your trap."

….

Margot Feynman was a low level clerk, but her superior had left her terminal open for use during her lunch house. The British SIS had wiped all reference to Alexander John Rider from their operations files. He had never been an officially employed agent and any stray search would find no trace of the teenager in their system. He had disappeared in July from school, the house in Chelsea was rented out, the deeds now stated the property was owned by the Royal and General Bank. She used the terminal to trace all hits and the CIA database had Alex Rider listed as a known associate of Yassen Gregorovich. Current location a safe house in Maryland. Status: Agent Level 5 (Active).

…..

Walker groaned as the hood was pulled off his head, the light burning his eyes. There had been a collision on the Highway, the Prison transport had crashed, then gas had knocked him out. His eyes felt like they'd been sandpapered and his throat was raw. He could not see or talk, he was tied down to a chair in a musty smelling room. No obvious traffic noise or any clue where he was.

"SCORPIA safe house in Atlanta. We just need to assess your loyalty and your usefulness to our much reduced, but still as effective organisation. Our assassination team is already up and running. You are still owned by us, so either work or die."


	3. Chapter 3

Seamus was the Chairman of the Advanced Security and Logistics, a nice bland name for the shattered remains of SCORPIA. He wondered on the fact that Cossack was happy to remain as a silent partner, now handling money transfers, laundering of cash through several subsidiaries including casinos and betting rings in Russia, the Far East, Africa and South America. Even he only contacted the paranoid Russian via messaging and email. The Irishman living in luxury, in Dominica, a far cry from hiding out on his cousin's farm last year, waiting for MI5 to lock him up and throw away the key. His beautiful Chinese assistant brought in the design plans for the new training facility in Baku. He would have a conference call with his board to discuss the new direction of the employment, avoiding the European Union, the United States and Australia. Plenty of work providing arms, money and services to further conflict and crime, but with no threat of stepping on the wrong sorts of toes.

He owed his good fortune to Cossack. The Russian had played his game to embarrass the Americans and the British, now happy to have effectively disappeared. The only surprise using his change of fortunes had been his short introduction to Alex Rider, the supposed nemesis of Cossack. The teenager who had avenged the murder of his parents by dispatching Rothman and Ash. The boy would have made a fine board member himself. The Irishman pondered the failings of SCORPIA, how different would things have been if Julia had buried the hatchet and seen the potential in Hunter's son. That woman had signed her own death warrant as had Zeljan. He did not mourn those colleagues dispatched by Rider. He knew to have any chance of continued success he had to adapt and mimic Max Grendel, who had kept his Board in check making sure no Director got greedy or outreached themselves. He had to make sure his successor was chosen well before his chosen date for disappearing from the great game.

…..

There was no way Alex Rider could not pass for an adult agent, that fact meant he could not train openly at Langley nor with American Special Forces. Again, he was cleared for operations without seeing any medical personnel or with any assessment of his skills. He was on his way to Turkey as cover for two agents, as a home schooled son. It was deja vu, had he not done the same thing in Cuba and that had ended so well. The briefing had stated a known SCORPIA operative was in contact with Dr. Three and Cossack, their brief was to see who his contacts were and to assess the threat to the US, NATO and the European Union.

The teenager knew he was pale and withdrawn, far from happy with this situation, again with no room to complain and no chance of escape. He wanted to run, maybe he could once in Istanbul, when he could just give the other agents the slip, only he had the sneaky suspicion he was the one they were watching. He had his schoolbooks as they were in keeping with his legend and he was only there as set dressing, allegedly. He was sure he was bait in the honey trap set for Yassen. He was beyond morose about that. That confrontation was likely to be fatally bad for his health.

He looked up Istanbul on Trip Advisor and made a list of things to do while in exile, as his fake parents would be busy spying. There may be a small chance that he could act like a real teenager for once.

Two and a half weeks in Turkey and all his misconceptions about its capital had been dissipated. He had thought the capital to be bohemian, steeped in history and chic, interspaced with gardens, parks and squares. Maybe the area around the Bosphorus and Sultanahmet was, but in the district near the airport, all the houses and apartment blocks were a modern concrete jungle. No possibility of being a tourist as he was stuck inside eating frozen TV dinners reheated in the microwave. Even Jack had managed better and she did not cook.

As he looked at the chicken and pasta thing chosen for this Wednesday night, partially cooked and frozen, he binned it and went to bed to dream about pizza, fresh pasta and burgers.

The next morning, Alex closely examined his face in the mirror, puberty had caught up with him with a vengeance. Ugly inflamed pustules marred his pale skin. It was bag over the head time. Now he had to go and buy face wash to try and stem his outbreak of spots. This was what he was meant to worry about, he was fifteen and had killer acne; not his real life situation stranded 1000 miles from home baiting a trap for his uncle's killer. He was trying to conjure up hate for Yassen, but he really wanted to warn him to stay away. He'd rather betray the CIA than see the Russian captured or killed. He was not even sure if they were frienemies, he would not blame Yassen if he put a bullet in his skull, considering how badly things had played out at Malagosto.

He went into the main room and waited for either Nancy or Greg to emerge from their lookout/listening post. Alex did not have access to the serious spy kit secured behind keypad and retinal scan access. Both agents had been working 20 hour days to cover this supposed stakeout.

After forty minutes, Greg came out and pondered his 'son'. Keeping in legend Alex whined "I need to go to the pharmacy dad, for my seriously major pizza face. You owe me three weeks allowance anyway."

The CIA Agent had been impressed that the kid kept himself to himself, did not bother them at all, but he was due to call his handler in 10 minutes and had only broken off to make a coffee. Nancy was liaising with the other team across the road. Their guy was sitting pretty in his apartment and there were no other active SCORPIA agents in Istanbul and the nearest shops were a couple of blocks away. "Straight there and back. Get some milk and bread as well. Here's 50 million lira. Make sure you are not followed." The kid had been stuck inside for two weeks would badly need to stretch his legs anyway.

In the small chemists, Alex looked at the array of spot creams and read the small print. He settled for the Neutrogena cream and wash, which cost just over 15 million lira. As he stepped outside he was shocked to noticed Yassen sat at the cafe opposite, without a legend or disguise relaxing without a care in the world. Alex was sure there had been no tail on him but he used the hand signals he'd been taught in Venice to state he was compromised and under surveillance and then walked to the small supermarket. He tried to call his handlers, but both phones were engaged, so he texted 'Cossack sighted in vicinity ... He has spotted me. ... Need instructions... Do I follow him?'. He pondered the milk and candy before heading to the till, where Yassen was buying cigarettes. The teenager wanted to back out and run, but whispered his warning in Russian covering his mouth to prevent anyone lip reading, "It's a honey trap... I'm bait. There are three teams of agents here gunning for you."

"I know the CIA have kept you under lock and key for several months now. Your handlers will have other things to worry about now." Yassen looked at his watch and smiled.

The Russian lit up his Marlboro and offered the packet to Alex. "No thanks, I don't smoke."

"You are too young to smoke and too young to be acting as a Raven. Come follow me, I have a safe house nearby. We have much to discuss." Half a block away a bomb exploded. "Really those Americans should pay more attention to their surroundings, so intent on following you they missed the fact their mark was booby trapped."

Alex was too shocked to react or to move, before he blurted out "Did you just blow up the agents tailing me?"

"No, not that they did not deserve it. I heard them talking yesterday. Discussing that I would fuck you, then kill you. I meant my words to you in London. I am compromised by my feelings for you. They should have left you safe and happy with the Pleasures in San Fransisco. They made a big mistake by using you to get to me. I would trade everything, my life, happiness and all worldly goods to keep you safe and happy. We must go, now." Yasser did not force Alex to comply with him, he just turned and walked out through the rear 'trade' entrance to the shop into the small rear alley.

Alex followed without looking back. The shouts, screams and sirens filled the air. He was following a killer, a terrorist and the only person ever to say they loved him.

….

Greg rushed onto the street after reading Alex's text to see the building they were watching explode. The secondary team in the building watching Mahmoud from across the hall. The CIA man quickly phoned his backup. "Target has been assassinated. Surveillance Team in vicinity, status unknown, likely part of numerous casualties from the building." For the next hour he forgot about the kid, until Nancy was pulled from the building with Mike and Stu. "Alex is OK? He's back safe in our apartment, isn't he?"


	4. Chapter 4

Byrne sat and watched his neighbours mow their lawn into precisely even stripes. He was on leave, possibly permanently. The official enquiry was over, concluding Alex Rider was presumed dead. He had given evidence, luckily the FUBAR in Istanbul could not be laid at his door. Yes, he had been responsible for using a child in operations, but one offered freely by the British. The trap laid to ensnare Cossack had been completely mishandled, by compartmentalisation the handling team unaware of the true purpose to smoke out the assassin. Failure to brief the team babysitting the kid had let the bait in their trap to fall into their enemies hands. Alex had chased after Cossack before and survived by pure luck alone. Byrne was enough of a realist to know that the Russian was a serial killer, with no remorse. Cossack had plenty of reasons to embarrass MI6 and the CIA and had done it expertly with that horrible video sent to Edward and Liz Pleasure of their fifteen year old foster son screaming in agony and pleading to exchange his life for those of his foster family.

The career spy concluded it was time bow out of the Great Game. He was partially to blame for Alex's untimely demise, but without him both Sarov and Drevin would have achieved their dastardly goals. The kid had been a fantastic, naturally instinctive agent. The grey haired agent went to the bureau and pulled out a bottle of bourbon, pouring himself a stiff measure and looked at the amber liquid before raising the glass in salute. "Christ, you deserved a long and happy life, kid. When we meet again, I hope you can forgive me. RIP, you were a real hero."

He thought back to Alex's foster father. Edward Pleasure had attended Senate hearings and had read out the two page letter left by Alex as his Will and Testament during his evidence. Alex had been completely frank with his realisation of eminent, most likely violent, death. "In the event , I die before my 18th birthday, I wish all money, property and keepsakes left to me by either my parents or my uncle be split between the British Legion and Help for Heroes. If any family come forward to contest this, I will only say I have no knowledge of any relations and do not consider them family, as they should have taken me in when Ian died. I cannot thank The Pleasures enough, nor ever repay the debt I owe to Jack Starbright, may she rest in peace."

...

Rather than a flat or townhouse, Alex followed Yassen into a small clinic, no receptionist at the desk and the tall blond Russian walked straight through to the consulting room.

"Good morning, Dr Temcuk. Could you please give Hunter's wayward son a full medical and assess his suitability for your skills at changing facial characteristics."

The elderly man was completely bald with a thin moustache, a petite build but had keen blue eyes. "Come on in Alexander, please strip and then we can give you the once over."

Alex said nothing but complied immediately. He was soon naked and uncomfortable as he watched Yassen search his clothes and then dismantled the phone. The assassin chuckled at the boy's purchases from the chemist.

With purpose and efficiency the ancient medic did a thorough and comprehensive check up. Much more invasive and practical than his induction to SCORPIA and what he would have expected, but had not received from either the Bank or the CIA. Everything was checked, from his height, weight, blood, overall health and detailed questions about his past injuries and all illnesses.

The doctor finally stated "Sending this young man's blood work off is essential as Alexander is underweight, severely anaemic, suffering from several vitamin deficiencies. He is a medical fail for any work, now and in the future. As are you, Cossack, considering you both have survived gunshot wounds to the chest. High stress situations could stress the wounds and trigger an episode of arrhythmia or cardiac arrest. Right now, Alex requires complete rest, somewhere sunny and with a balanced diet incorporating lots of fresh fruit and vegetables. I would suggest two months in a clinic, but I know you need security and protection. I will write up a detailed diet plan, prescriptions for supplements and medications. Only light exercise, swimming, gentle katas, walking and at least two hours sunbathing a day for Vitamin D, with adequate protection for his fair skin. No caffeine, no alcohol, no processed food. His teeth are in need of a good clean as well as a full dental and eye check up." The doctor then looked at the boy and compared him to of his own sons at that age. "You must eat better. You are in danger of rickets and scurvy. Unthinkable really considering you grew up in the West in a high income home. You feel tired, lethargic and the acne, all a result of poor diet. Now the boring good advice, for regaining good health and perfect skin, not those washes or creams. Salads with plain cooked fish and meat. Fruit for pudding. Drink milk, fresh fruit juice and plenty of water. No tea or coffee and if you must only well after meals. Only occasional sugar or high fat treats. No fast food. Light exercise only for now. You need an extended holiday. I trust Cossack's promise to look after you." The stern doctor had already offered that if there were problems, the teenager could have a home here, as he would foster Hunter's son himself. His wives would mother the boy, as both women missed their sons; who now lived in the US and Canada. "Keep well, I will send through your blood and urine analysis and a full copy of the medical results. "

The doctor then handed Alex a pair of scrubs. "You are well enough for a short general anaesthetic, for your cosmetic procedure."

Alex frowned and asked "what procedure?"

The man looked closely at the boy's face, his youth was an advantage as he was still growing and subtle changes would change how he grew in the next few years "Rhinoplasty."

Alex wondered what he would end up looking like, but the doctor handed him a mirror and then started to drawn on his patient's nose with a green pen. "You have a good strong straight nose. I will remove width and make it a less dominant feature. Softening your looks subtly. Do not worry you will still be a handsome boy." The man then smiled "I will operate tonight. Both of you can rest in the guest room upstairs, no food or drink for Alex, though."

Alex pondered the doctor's statement that Yassen was medically unfit for work. "You did not set the bomb this morning?"

"The man your friends were tailing had many enemies. I was surprised to find out you were assigned here. The bomb did distract your guards. Giving me the opportunity to talk to you and offer you a chance of a life away from spying, death and destruction."

Alex noted Yassen had not confirmed his involvement, but he knew that Cossack normally subcontracted bombings to explosives experts. "I have nothing to keep me here. I was promised pay and decent conditions, only I could not have a contract nor could I go on the books per say because of my age. I was here illegally and I planned to walk at the first opportunity. I was leaving anyway once I was sure I wasn't being tailed."

"With my expertise and contacts, you have a chance of escape, otherwise they would have used the confirmation of your lack of loyalty to track you down to either imprison you indefinitely or liquidate you."

"So, I've damned myself already by going off grid for an hour. Your way it is. I still find it incredulous that you have been the one adult who has tried to save me from those people." Alex also hoped it was third time lucky. Alex pondered their past interactions, if this man had sent him to Malagosto in the hope they nurtured Hunter's son only for Rothmans to prove she was a ruthless bitch who had tried to use Alex as revenge for Hunter's rejection and betrayal. If he was reading the situation right, both of them were no longer players. He was taking a huge risk running, but he preferred to die rather than use or betray Cossack.

…

Alex was warm, comfortable and felt safe for the first time in months. He had been given a pre-med for surgery and felt woozed and out of it. He was counting back from ten and made it to six before darkness took him.

Dr. Temchuck attached the lie detector pads to fingers, chest and temples of the fifteen year old CIA agent. He had administered the truth serum, which was calculated perfectly for the age, height and weight of the teenager, his empty stomach would enhance the potency and aid all suggestions and lower inhibitions to answer direct questions fully. At Malagosto, they had already implanted hypnotic suggestions to aid full cooperation. If the teenager was a double agent, rather than a raven as suggested by the boy, the threat would be eliminated now. Otherwise the boy would wake from surgery with no memory of the interrogation.

The entire interrogation was videoed as the doctor asked over two hundred questions, noting the boy grew extremely distressed at several points. As the boy rested, the sixty year old SCORPIA affiliate went into the adjoining room to face a very angry Cossack.

"They blackmailed him from the start! Why did Alex never tell me? He even kept that secret from Rothman. I… I could have taken him with me after we met in London. I told him to go back to school, but he wanted that. The bastards in London and Washington as bad as each other." The Russian for once was ahead of the game. "They really wanted to pimp him as a Raven. He is still a virgin. Force him, when he is obviously no ready to play such dangerous games." Cossack smiled, he had the means to give Alex the chance of a schooling and protection for as long as the teenager needed it. He understood that the journalist had tried to offer Alex a home, Alex wanted to protect the Pleasures. The former foster family would see the full unedited tape showing how the Intelligent Services that destroyed a child.

…..

Deniz and her husband Gulman had looked after the villa and gardens near Bodrum for nearly ten years. The owner stayed here of three weeks a year. Sometimes arriving on his yacht, more often driving a hire car after flying in. This morning the Russian had faxed to say he was arriving this afternoon and would be staying at least two months and now had custody of a teenage boy, asking if she could enquire about an English speaking tutor and local doctor. She looked at the doctor's suggestions and noted down a grocery list and a meal plan. Good home cooked food is what was needed to put meat on this teenager's bones. No burgers and chips like the tourists requested. She would feed this boy her yogurt, various hearty types of soup, her homemade bread and for a treat he could have pide and pancakes. On her vegetable plot there were onions carrots, beetroot and greens. She would go to the butcher and get beef shin bones and four chickens for stock. She would be the first to admit she was lonely. She and her husband were orphans, with no close family. Her only daughter had been killed in a car accident ten years ago. Her grave in Ankara, one they visited once a year.

Alex was woken by the dull throb across his face. He cracked his eyes open and noted he was sat on the passenger seat in a car, travelling along a road with views across rocky outcrops, sparse woodland and azure seas. Cool air-conditioning meant his throat was dry. He had been drooling onto a cotton blanket, wrapping him like a cocoon. His nose was stuffed with cotton. He reached up and could see his reflection in the vanity mirror on sun visor. His nose strapped and he had two black eyes. He groaned and looked at Cossack, who suggested "Go back to sleep, only an hour to our destination."


	5. Chapter 5

Walker wondered what exactly had given him away. He pondered all his actions and interactions since arriving in Israel, but could not pinpoint any glaring slip ups . Had he been betrayed? That was unlikely considering he knew too much and his arrest would have just signed his own death warrant. He had been stopped in a road block, following a security alert, the assassin had been working to such a tight deadline he had not factored a random event. His vehicle had been searched by an explosives team, the dog going straight for his hidden consignment under the rear seat. Surrounded by well armed, highly trained and very trigger happy armed police his only choice was to acquiesce and trade information for either protection or to act as a double agent. Anything to survive.

The two officers from Mossad noted the arrogant and cocksure expression on the terrorists face. "My name is Walker, John Bradley, former CIA Agent, Malagosto trained and now a freelance assassin. I have information to trade and skills you can make use of."

"Your prints prove you are wanted in five countries including Saudi Arabia, panama, Bangladesh, South Korea and Burkina Faso for murder/homicide. No hits for the US, but extradition likely from Panama and South Korea. From your demeanor you must have something of grave importance to trade?"

Walker's smirk broadened into a grin. "The scandal that has damaged my former employers and the Brits reputations was the use an abuse of that fifteen year old operative. Their analysts concluded Alex Rider died two years ago. He's still living and breathing. In the complete thrall of Cossack, practically that sick bastard's slave. Our Russian friend only had to threaten to kill Edward Pleasure and his family and the kid rolled. Chained, beaten and raped, that has been the teen hero's fate. That's a freebie to pass on to those bastards at Langley."

...

Alex was on the sundeck, which was attached to the villa's master suite. The room he shared with Cossack. Four weeks had been hard on Alex, as if his body need to prove to him that he had been running on empty since Cairo. Days of rest and sunbathing under the Russian's watchful eyes, had morphed into full care for a bed ridden invalid when he fifteen year old developed a kidney infection. From the sun bed where he was wrapped in two blankets. He was meant to be napping, but the former keen footballer could just see the game being played by the local teenage boys on a scrap of wasteland on edge of the village. He reached down and rubbed his right ankle, where he could feel the scar left from the surgery done last year. In two days he was 16. He lay back and pondered this milestone.

For all his misapprehension regarding the CIAs insistence he be used as a Raven, Cossack had done nothing inappropriate and had acted like a concerned parent over his night terrors, flashbacks and now debilitating fever and illness. The sour faced Russian exile mumbling about bastards not treating their agents properly.

He rolled over onto his stomach, and smirked that he was used to sleeping nude as his Russian friend had no hang ups about going au natural, something Alex adopted due to his lack of clothes that fit. The housekeeper never batted an eye on her naturalist employer nor his ward.

He could sleep again, even though it was only 10 in the morning. Considering he'd been stuck inside since September, he had really needed this holiday. Even so, he was lonely as Cossack was working most days. The teenager drifted off to sleep knowing Deniz would knock when lunch was served.

…

Alex was meant to be sleeping, but he was pondering his situation. He had already made a life changing decision by going with Yassen in Istanbul, which just proved the point how fucked up his life was, when a cold blooded terrorist was the person he trusted most in the entire world. Not that for one second did the teenager think his father's friend had rescued him for altruistic reasons or some sort of sudden empathy. Yassen's love for him , which he was damn sure was completely selfish and possessive, was almost comforting to a boy that had been dragged up to be completely self sufficient and self reliant. He had spent months pondering Jack's decision to join him in Cairo, which had been driven by guilt not love; as she had already planned to leave and had lined up the Pleasures as his new family, which had worked out so well, not. He knew his skills were too useful for the CIA or MI6 to let him be a normal kid ever again. That slim possibility had come and gone.

Without the distraction of the air conditioning unit, which was off during the nighttime hours. He concentrated on the dim hum of traffic on the Highway and knew he had nothing going for him apart from the fact there was nothing stopping him from leaving at any point, but to go where and do what? The assassin was offering him a home, protection and was not asking for anything in return. To be truthful, Alex had not really thought about sex or relationships, there was the hard truth that he did think Yassen was beautiful and he had thought the same of Sabina. He had kissed Sabina, as a sort of experiment last November, but that had not been proper snogging. He was probably the only guy in Year 11 at Brookland who had not french kissed a girl or been on a date. He had shied away from interpersonal contact or anyone seeing his scars after Kenya. Yassen did not care he was a scarred freak. The truth was this was possibly his only chance of a relationship without lying, omissions and keeping his masks in place and his past hidden. He was almost positive Yassen desired a sexual relationship, but the problem was were they compatible? The past four weeks had been the tension of two caged tigers circling each other, only Alex was in no position to make demands or ask for anything. He was making his choice and now he was making a new life with the blunt hard decisions as an adult.

Alex still did not feel like sleeping and would stay awake until Yassen came to bed. Lying in bed, in the dark, watching the digital clock change from 23:59 to midnight and he smiled, as the new day signified he was sixteen years old. Last year he had been in St. Dominic's for his birthday. The major change was no more spying and he was about to disappear completely under a new alias. He softly spoke his new name to himself, Alexei Borodin, Ukrainian of Russian ethnicity; to match Yassen's Ukrainian passport. With his new legend, it wasn't his birthday today anyway. February 21st 1987, a date he would have to remember. Probably better to wait until the end of the month as his kidneys still ached and he generally felt terrible. He had not moved from the bedroom in six days after scaring the life out of Yassen, when he rapidly developed a fever of nearly 40 degrees c. He'd knew he'd been hallucinating, talking to Sabina, Jack, Julius, Sarov, Ash and Ian. He could only remember snippets, when he blurting out secrets. Yassen had asked about certain details, so the Russian now knew about Ash and the whole sorry business was the result of being blackmailed by Blunt, Byrne and Damon into operations, when all he had wanted was to go back to school like Yassen had suggested. He had sussed out that Cossack had sent him to SCORPIA to stop him in his tracks, shame it had not worked out that way. Alex was just emotionally drained by it all. No sense of betrayal or need for vengeance against the freelance agency for spying and assassination, which had reinvented itself again and the Russian was now a director, not just a freelance killer. The deadly killer was now acting as guard to protect the boy he professed to love.

He could hear the murmur of Yassen on the phone downstairs, probably arranging the death of some poor, unfortunate bastard. It was nothing personal to the Russian, except where Alex was concerned. A fact that was strangely comforting, as his father's friend was the one person to actually stop the abuse and offer Alex another life. The Pleasures had offered a home, but had been powerless to stop the CIA as they forced him back into operations. Maybe he was completely deluded about this all, but this was more real and not a cage like his months in protective custody. He was not a child despite only being 16, but he was adaptable. It seemed to good to be true with No more death, no fear or hurt and Yassen was a survivor like himself. It promised to be a lonely future, but the sixteen year old could handle living in a relatively luxurious cage, even if he was selling himself in the process. It wasn't prostitution, maybe he was going to be a kept man, but he was damn sure he could love Yassen. He already liked and respected him and he could truthfully not see the point in dating anyone else. His protector was a man of great patience, but Alex had made up his mind in his usual all or nothing style. Yassen could have all of him, mind, body and soul. Even though this choice could damn him in the eyes of everyone else, they could all go fuck themselves. He was no ones puppet and he had cut his strings.

…

The Director of Finance and Investments had finished his multiple bank transfers and had finalised payment details for a new client. He was a business man, worth tens of millions and loving the intricacies of playing the system. Business start ups and fake corporations were used to account for all cash and bonds from illegal deals. Easier than proper money laundering for the drug cartels. He was still wary of skimming and creative accounting, happy to smoke out traitors and thieves.

Happy with today's work, the Russian set the alarm and climbed the stairs to sleep. In the dark he could tell Alex was only pretending to sleep.

"What is bothering you so much you cannot sleep, Alex?" He asked as he undressed and put his soiled clothes in the laundry basket, moving silently and with prurpose without the need for artificial illumination.

The birthday boy pondered this as he watched Yassen get into bed beside him. Burying his real anxiety over platonic and/or sexual relationships, Alex turned to stare out of the window at the black sky and eerie glow from the neighbouring properties. "I cannot thank you enough for coming for me. I know I've been depressed since Jack died. The whole situation in Istanbul with the other agents ignoring me and not letting me do anything was getting to me. It was like being sent to Coventry. So, I'd stopped caring about anything. Your doctor friend was spot on suggesting close supervision, but I guess there another reason we're sharing a bed. I have to say I've been completely oblivious, but that gay art house picture we watched yesterday, was that a massive hint or something?"

In the dark, Alex could make out the flash of white teeth as the man smiled broadly and then shrugged.

The Russian had mirth in his voice as he played his attraction down. "I would never force you to do anything, Alex."

"I'm horny and you turn me on. Remember completely oblivious Virgin here. That film had rather risqué scenes with bondage, whips and stuff. Does that sort of thing get you hot and bothered, because I kind of liked the idea of it. Not the pain aspect as such, just the master and slave err, sub and dom thing going on."

Yassen was silent for a moment, "do both positions appeal to you?"

Alex felt terminally embarrassed, but at least his blushing was not noticeable in he dark. "I... I fancy being tied up, restrained by you, not in power, the sub... The slave... Yeah, you in charge. Fuck, Yasha thinking about it is making me hard." Not something Alex could hide under the thin sheet and blanket.

Yassen moved to hold Alex's hand, bring it up to kiss the palm. "Sleep trouble, you are still recovering, we will talk more tomorrow. I admit I want us to be lovers, partners and when we move to my other home we will explore our options. You need to consider that I am used to being in control. This holiday here has been good for both of us. In the morning you have a doctor's appointment. If you are well enough to fly, we will move on."

…

Walker had arrived in Bodrum in a hired business jet from Cyprus, with a legend as a trained paramedic. He was here to act as a bodyguard and would be meeting the legendary Cossack, a retired assassin who now arranged hits. The hired ambulance was driven north by a silent local and its passenger inwardly sneered at the hotels, villas and tourists. The international mix meant a rich Russian would not stand out.

Cossack was younger than he expected, in fact there was only a couple of years between them. The Russian was lithe, fit and handsome. Walker helped the driver with the trolley and in the Master bedroom was a drugged teenager in loose scrubs, drip and oxygen cannula.

He had passed over the medical notes and passport to Cossack for this fifteen year old. The former Malagosto graduate looked closely at the child and recognised Alex Rider. He already knew their flight plan was to Yunan. The teen spy was going to see Dr. Three. The American spy shuddered at what was in store for SCORPIA's nemesis.


	6. Chapter 6

Joe Byrne sucked on a hard toffee as the plane descended into Heathrow. He was visiting an old friend and another retired player of the Great Game. Blanche Lamont had taught him much about spy craft many years ago in Berlin as a Green Field Agent during the Cold War. She had retired to a small apartment in Oxford, writing gritty spy stories with moderate success. They had stayed in touch and met up whenever he was in England. This was his first visit since his retirement. Visiting for pleasure, not business was a novel concept.

The ex-spy had an ulterior motive to visit, as he was going to talk to Edward Pleasure, who was a guest speaker at the Oxford Uni this weekend. Last week, a contact at Mossad had let him know Alex Rider was alive. The Israeli's had confirmed the eighteen year old was a prisoner of Dr. Three. Byrne prayed that the brave young man could be extracted, because where there was life there was hope. How much damage had been done by two years of psychological reconditioning by rape and torture? The sixty year old American wondered if Alex was salvageable after a fate worse than death.

….

Dr Three was old, a world renown psychologist, with over fifty years experience of human psychosis, personality readjustment, brain washing and interrogation. Each and every case, whether patient, volunteer or prisoner, had been treated by this calm and efficient professional. No need for brutality, when pain was precisely utilised. First and foremost he was a clinician. He was tiny and frail with age, but still he worked at the clinic he had built in Yunan. He no longer travelled, and it had been two years since his last visit west for a SCORPIA board meeting. Now, the few remaining board members came to him.

He had discussed business with Cossack for three hours. The agenda covering facts, figures, projections; new and old customers and new and old enemies. Building from the lions left by the mismanagement of Rothman and Kurst. Clear guidelines in the era of zero tolerance for global terrorism. Business was now conducted with drug dealers, mafia and organised crime rather than against western governments. They still dealt arms and services with those labelled as terrorists, the doctor knew terrorists could overnight become the legal government, it was just a change in perspective. The old man was pleasantly surprised and pleased as the Russian killer had worked hard to take over the reigns as financial manager for this multinational after his imprisonment.

Yassen finished describing his updated scheme for expanding into legitimate business, keeping profits safe from international bank money laundering prohibitions. He waited for the respected elder to read through the prepared statements, waiting for questions and comments.

"You have done a wonderful job. I had feared the resources sqiandered or looted after five directors passed in such quick succession. You have consolidated our reserves, providing financial services to clients and opening up new markets in the eight months since you took control. I cannot fault your work or projections. You have delegated wonderfully." The old man took a long drink of his cool tea. "I think you want to move on to talk of more personal matters."

The Russian smiled and relaxed. "I have been forbidden from visiting Alex. Is he very damaged and what is your prognosis?"

The doctor looked intently at the former assassin. "Alex is resourceful and a true survivor. Like yourself, Cossack. He has been so poorly treated by both his former employers and our colleagues. I wish to make sure he is making decisions rationally and not using his relationship with you as a crutch. In the past he relied almost completely on his Jack. Not so surprising as his uncle was so controlling and distant. If he is independent, then he can make a true choice on his future. Give him time and do not be upset if he choses another path." The old man used his cane to stand. "No child should fight, kill or prostitute himself. Alex has lost his innocence brutally. I need to warn you not to join the list of abusers in his life."

Yassen had brought Alex here to heal, to give John's son choices and he could have kept the ex-spy safe and hidden, but that would have morphed into a prison. "I will be patient and adhere to your suggestions."

The respected doctor smiled, having gotten the reassurances he wanted. "You did the right thing by insisting on friendship and healing first. You both need to communicate fully, if your relationship is to deepen into a sexual one."

…

The blond sixteen year old lay on his stomach as the healer applied heated glass cups to his back to realign his chi. A full diagnosis had incorporated a healing plan of proper nutrition, herbal teas, massage, acupuncture and several other alternative therapies as well as long sessions with Dr. Three. His malaise was a result of physical and psychological trauma. He was balancing out his life, reassessing his own goals and the doctor was insistent that he did not owe Yassen anything. No debts to be paid and Alex needed to reevaluate his passive acceptance when the CIA decided to use him as a Raven. Was he really attracted to his uncle's killer? The truth was yes, even at Port Tallon he had been drawn by Cossack's physical beauty. Did he want to be nothing more than a concubine? He wanted to finish school, but what then? College? There were plenty of opportunities to study by correspondence course, wherever he lived.

Alex pondered the fact even with Dr. Three acting as protector and careers counsellor. The fact that he had walked away from the CIA meant he was an exile and would remain one until he attained his majority. After eighteen, what awaited him in Britain or the US? He was still first and foremost an asset to be used, but now was a traitor and likely to be imprisoned. It was easier to stay away, live and survive making his own choice not to be a puppet. He chose not to be a killer, a liar or a spy. At sixteen, he had at least five years to make any meaningful decisions regarding his future. School, college and then he could have a non-violent and completely normal career with no stress and no threats of imminent death. He knew he would try and make a relationship work with Yassen. Even if that failed, he was sure they would remain close. Sex would not destroy their odd relationship. Its not like anyone else was even remotely attainable. Yassen wanted him and he wanted Yassen. It was like a simple mathematical formula, a universal truth, it was right and not a damaged teenager steeling for the least worst option. Cossack was possibly the only person he connected with and who understood him. Dr. Three just had to accept and respect that.

…

The apartment in Macau was luxurious. There were magnificent views out onto the South China Sea. Their neighbours were bankers, insurance brokers and business entrepreneurs from Australia, Eastern Europe and South America. The official tenant was a rich Ukrainian living with his young lover. No one gave a crap about the living arrangements as they were living openly a couple. Alex had no wish to socialise with others his age as he had no wish to pretend to be a teenage high school student. He had left those misguided and unattainable wants and desires back in London a lifetime ago. He and Yassen had fully discussed their future hopes and desires. After four months as a guest of Dr. Three, Alex liked the fact he had a proper home again. He had decided used the stop gap to rationalise his feelings for the Russian assassin and the fact he was now his own man. Not freedom exactly, but the promise of protection and security. Alex hoped for years and years together as a self sufficient unit without the burden of guilt or the liability of friends.

Alex had enjoyed his hours of solitude, kept busy with his own study plans as Yassen had travelled on business. Yassen was due back this evening. Alex had planned a sensual evening of bathing, massage, a light supper and the promise of amazing sex. He was the Raven he had been manoeuvred to be only without a handler to report to and with no intention of betraying his lover.

….

Yassen Gregorovich knew any operative would exploit information for his own advantage, if compromised. Walker had become a double agent for Mossad. A situation was a workable solution in the short term, so the American assassin now worked for two masters, but as a freelance was loyal only to himself. It seemed the news of Alex Rider's 'imprisonment' had been traded to the Americans. Only the CIA had long since disavowed the teenager, as too damaged to extract. The disinformation had also reached Edward Pleasure. The journalist had impressive contacts and Dieter Sprintz had been offered a large sum of money for the release of the former teen spy. Alex had no desire to leave and had recorded a message for his former foster parent, stating he was happy, safe and had no desire to return to being a pawn of MI6 and the CIA. He had made his bed and was lying in it as long as his lover desired and wanted him, so no deal even if millions were offered.

That fact alone made Yassen pause. Was Alex not considering the bigger picture? Their affair would be dismissed as Stockholm Syndrome. Doubts gnawed at Yassen, unsure of his own deep feelings were just lust and possessiveness and the fact Alex had settled simply for the devil he knew. Two years, and their honeymoon period was over. Four years since they both survived bullets to the chest, time and the odds for survival were against them. The Great Game was on again, despite their exile and seclusion.


	7. Chapter 7

The clinic was luxurious, spacious and very secluded. The director sat and read his latest correspondence with Dr. Zhang San about the child soldier being treated here. Dr. Loewe reread his notes on Alex and sighed. The patient was guarded, intelligent and happily hiding behind his control issues. The nineteen year old stayed in his room, only leaving for meals and allotted therapy sessions and for his few visitors. He did not go outside at all. The psychologist was going to shake things up and make his stubborn patient broaden his horizons. A mix of paranoia, fear and need for control kept Alex in his room. Today was a family session, only it was Alex's friend James accompanied by his father Dieter attending. Alex had only agreed to the intervention of the Sprintz's, if his foster family was kept safe. When safe meant no direct contact and not even visiting Switzerland. The American doctor also pondered the fact Alex told him two of his newest members of staff were CIA, not surprising really. A fact he did not dispute, the two were competent and were kept busy. It wasn't as if Alex gave them anything to report on. The doctor was sure his notes and tapes were being copied, but he had nothing to hide as Alex was here working his way back to normal, after surviving a close relationship with a serial killer and Yassen Gregorovich had done enough damage. The heavily edited notes provided by the Chinese Psychologist on both Alex and the Russian assassin showed a long history of obsession for both parties. Alex's problems stemming from his uncle's neglect and manipulation. After six months, he agreed with Alex that his uncle was very much to blame for everything.

Alex pulled his hair back from his forehead, slightly annoyed as it was getting impossibly long. He then went to close the blinds opened by the nurse when he'd been out of his room for breakfast. Carefully he remained out of direct line of sight as he skirted the walls to the blind cord. It had snowed again, the outside now looking like a Christmas Card or Narnia. He could see the powder was perfect for skiing. He had not skied nor boarded since Point Blanc. He had given up all extreme sports. He kept fit on the treadmill in his room. He spent hours walking at a brisk pace, facing the open door, watching all in this prison as he kept his door open. He sat on his bed and wrote in his journal. Breakfast of warm sweet rolls, fresh fruit and yogurt. He had briefly spoken to Mags, here in post-natal depression. She had shown new pictures of her husband and two month old daughter, Hermann and Lisl. Both would be visiting today. Family therapy, how Alex hated discussing Ian, Jack or Yasha with James. The therapy had laid bare what a fucking psycho he really was. His journal had the mantra 'Survive, Cope, Accept, Thrive' on the cover with only survive ticked. Everything Dr. Three had said, he had ignored, so intent on burying everything because Yasha was going to make everything better.

Alex went out to the phone, clutching the phone card. He had dialled the number for Stockholm, Edward Pleasure answered, with a curt "Morning?"

For a man driven into exile and with a 24 hour seven day a week police bodyguard, the journalist sounded relaxed. "Hi, Edward. Its Alex. I…I want to accept your invitation about Christmas, I think it's time I stopped hiding and started living again."

"It's wonderful to hear from you. Sabina and Liz will be thrilled."

…..

Edward had watched the video message a hundred times and was disturbed by the complete lack of emotion on Alex's face as he stated he was 'happy and safe'. Dieter Sprintz had three world renown psychologists telling him that Alex Rider was a damaged traumatised prisoner groomed by a psychopath; who was surviving by using his current situation to his advantage. Tomorrow the billionaire was interviewing mercenaries and an extraction specialist, who dealt with cults. The hard truth was Alex would be swapping life with his abuser, a person he professed to love for a high security psychiatric unit with a very slim chance of returning to normal. Blunt and his friends in the CIA had destroyed that beautiful young man as much as that bastard Gregorovitch had. Was he right to destroy Alex's illusion of a relationship and safety?

He wanted Alex whole, happy and thriving. Living with Yassen was only a half life at best. Only the journalist was projecting his own ideals of normal onto a situation that was anything but. Forced into this by the CIA, Alex was living his legend as bait for a trap that the CIA had never sprung. Had their plan always been to rid themselves of the liability of a child spy? All bets would have had the SCORPIA assassin torturing and executing the Raven, not provided the lure with a home. Or was Gregorovich playing another game, using Alex. Had the destroyer of Julia Rothman and Zeljan Kursk been reduced to being the plaything of the new Chairman of SCORPIA? Edward knew he was making assumptions based on his own fears. Alex had always had a strange obsession with the Russian assassin. The fact was the former spy had confessed they were like twins. Only Alex had only killed out of desperation, when forced by circumstance. Gregorovich was a cold blooded serial killer, torturer and terrorist. Was it just another situation Alex was in survival mode and still sticking to his legend as MI6 and the CIA had blackmailed him into his current situation? He said he was 'safe and happy', the journalist trusted his gut feeling that his former foster child was looking at life through rose coloured spectacles.

…

Yasha had always put his work first, he was still a terrorist, a man who made his living on the death and misery of others. He felt no empathy for those he destroyed nor any for those who paid for his services. He was cold and emotionless. Becoming an assassin had saved him from his own demons, put him in control. Life had taught him at a young age that no one gave a damn about him and he had moved on from being a survivor of the catastrophe at Estrov.

Love was a mix of obsession and possessiveness for the Russian and he adored his little Alex. Even he could see the changes in Hunter's son. The teenager was compliant, controlled and static. Still in survival mode, with no urge to move from his safe haven.

Yassen could not complain as Alex was a passionate lover, but he was haunted with the impression that circumstance had morphed him into the role of owner and his beloved was just his slave. He was not cruel, he was not Sharkovsky playing psychological games, maiming, inflicting physical and emotional pain and torturing for fun. Yasha pondered his own escape from captivity and his moulding into a cold hard killer despite the friendship of Hunter and his insistence that he should strive for normal life. Beautiful Alex had been destroyed through blackmail and loss by MI6 and the CIA. The teenager happy in this gilded cage. Besotted with his uncle's murderer, Hunter's brother who had groomed his nephew to be a weapon for MI6. Alex should be independent, confident and driven, after two years he still insisted he was fine with home study and in hiding.

Cossack sat and pondered the advice of Dr. Three, on the fine line between love and darker emotions. Truly he wanted the best for Alex. Freedom to choose was dangerous and complicated as the ex spy was happy to have escaped his former abusers, even at the cost of prostituting himself to his rescuer.

Yassen was strong enough to love his Alex and let him go.

…

Alex sometimes compared his life to a house of cards. He had always been deluded about close relationships. Stupidly building hopes and dreams on Ian, who had been a Machiavellian bastard, Jack who had been planning to run and Yassen who was as broken as Alex. Talking to Dr. Three brought everything into sharp focus. Beautiful Yasha did not love, could not love; but then again neither could he profess to any real feelings. He was as much a sociopath, all thanks to Ian's stellar upbringing. Life was nothing more than survival in the end. He had clung to the Russian Asasssin as the only one to be capable of allowing some breathing space. Their fling had never been a forever type of partnership. Reality was bound to blight their dual fantasy sometime.

Their affair had been a mere interlude to the chaos, for both of them. An approximation of love, as close as either of them were likely to ever achieve as neither were whole or healthy. Alex was in reality cold and emotionless, but he had realised at fifteen he had lost all connection to normal human interaction and responses. He had become the asset he had been trained to be, living life as a series of legends as he had stopped being a real person long before his sojourn to Malagosto. Now he had to move forward, as the illusion of home a and happiness was broken. Alex reread the email from Yassen. Rather than run, it was safer for Alex to play the victim as Yasha was quite happy to be painted as the villain.

…..

An intervention had been arranged. Alex had agreed with the reasonable suggestions of both Yasha and Dr. Three. If he stayed, death and destruction would follow now MI6 and the CIA knew he was alive. Dieter's extraction team was the best solution for survival. He had been a prisoner here, but it had been a cage of his own making. Yasha wanted him healthy, whole and thriving, not a mouse scarred of his own shadow, hiding from friends out of fear. The universe did not revolve around Alexander John Rider. After nearly three years in exile, his friends had not been kidnapped, tortured or harmed in anyway. He had let them grieve for him. Yasha had promised to protect Sabina and her parents and had ranted often that the CIA should have left Alex with his foster family, to heal and integrate back into normal life. As a realist, Alex knew he had a long way to go to achieve that goal, but the idea that their teen spy was emotionally compromised, bought him an out. No agency could trust him, but with several years passed since his last use as an asset, he was effectively not a threat to any active operations. He may end up stuck in an evaluation centre, but that cost money and Alex was an irrelevance now.

He had said his goodbyes to Yasha. It was not forever, only if Alex wanted a clean break. He was using the preconceptions of his imprisonment and torture as smoke and mirrors. He was grateful for his break from reality, now he just had to manipulate the bastards in London and Washington to leave him alone.

Alex had learned the importance of patience from Yassen and Dr. Three. There were no instant fixes in life. You had to work and strive for safety, stability and the ever-elusive happiness. The teenager had settled down happy to bathe in the obsessive love Yasha showered on him, his lover had provided him with anything he asked for. In truth, Alex was note even sure if he loved the Russian. Was he only lost in the legend prepared in Washington? He was sure that he had been acting at school, trying to force himself into the role of teenage Londoner. He had been secretly relieved when he had been removed from the Pleasures, before they realised that he wasn't a real boy; only a government automaton.

The one voice of reason to both Yasha and himself had been Dr. Three. Alex was damaged and had been hiding behind denial and control issues since Ian died. Alex had built himself a prison and reduced Yasha to jailer. Alex was living in fear, in the shadows, existing not coping, not thriving, not living.


	8. Chapter 8

Lia Schultz reread the detailed analysis of the teenager used by the CIA between 2001 and 2002, she refused to classify that child as an asset or an agent. The poor kid had been blackmailed into back ops by the Brits and had been so psychologically damaged, there was no way Alex Rider could have made an informed decision about anything. The psyche profile in November 2001 had stated he was a heterosexual teenager, openly flirting with the female CIA operative in the Bahamas. She had poured over heavily redacted files to try and piece together which bright spark thought convincing a fifteen year old to prostitute himself to entrap Yassen Gregorovich was a good idea. She had drawn the short straw of travelling to Switzerland to evaluate and debrief a jaded and broken nineteen year old.

She then pulled out the file sent to her privately, the detailed psychological assessment by the world renown psychologist Dr. Zhang San, to those in the know the real name of the infamous expert on torture and psychological reprogramming for SCORPIA. Dr. Three had 'treated' Alex for three years. It was a tragedy, as Alex should never have been removed from his foster placement with the Pleasures. MI6's threat assessment had been completely unfounded, not when Yassen Gregorovich had found, but instead of killing the teenager he had protected and attempted to heal him. Had the sexual aspect of their relationship purely happened because of the teenager's acceptance of his use as a Raven? That decision might have saved his life considering Gregorovich was a complex psychopath. Even Dr. Three had tried to separate Alex from his mark.

Alex had a lifetime of being fashioned into a programmable tool, by his uncle, by MI6, by SCORPIA, by the CIA. His relationship with Grigorovich had been no different, Alex had moulded himself to survive. The chances were that the intensive deprograming would only be partially successful, as Alex had only a slim recognition of normal from his very abnormal upbringing.

…..

The circle had closed and the idyllic interlude with Yasha was over. After everything, Alex was not alone, the Pleasure's and the Sprintz's were his family and steadfast protectors. He knew that Yasha was safer without him and drew strength from that. The nineteen year old also drew strength from he fact he never wanted to be a spy or a killer and now he could never return to that world. The only blot in this tranquil future was the inevitability of his debriefing at some point, but after 6 weeks intensive therapy in Switzerland, the CIA had thankfully stayed away. The clinic was exclusive and very expensive. All paid for by a billionaire financier, which made Alex uncomfortable enough. He had tried to abscond in the first week and had not made it out of the high security wing, never mind the building. The security here was excellent. He now had an ankle tag, but was sure they had implanted trackers as well, as he was being downgraded to an outpatient.

Alex was going to live at the Oberdorf Estate of Dieter Sprintz, with its 24 hour security surveillance, high perimeter fence, motion trackers and flood lights. The billionaire, his pseudo parent/jailer, was unassuming, even boring on your first and second glance, but had as biting a sense of humour as his son, a love of games of chance, gambling and strategy. The financier spoke several languages with proficiency for his work, but only opened up in his native tongue. Herr Sprintz was hard as nails as well, having survived parenting hell with James, and was a man 110% behind paying his debt to this teen spy who saved his and his son's life five years ago.

The new direction of the therapy team was to get him over his agoraphobia, tomorrow was a new activity, Golf with Dieter. The German stated he was proficient enough not to embarrass himself and liked the fact a game got him away from his work mindset completely.

Several leaks about a teen agent had made the press over the past three years, thankfully his survival was not public knowledge. That fact gave Alex hope of seclusion and anonymity as he rebuilt his life.

…..

His room had a beautiful view of the mountains, his closet full of tasteful and fashionable clothes bought by Dieter's personal assistant, the decor understated and minimalist. There were genuine modern artworks at on the wall, all by German, Austrian and Swiss artists. Alex sighed, he was torn as this was perfection, but it was not home, not really. This was a stepping stone to a place of his own, somewhere small, somewhere manageable. That thought made him feel queasy, easier just to let Dieter make all the decisions and plan his future one day at a time. No different than Macao, except there was no beautiful Yasha here. Alex closed his eyes and held his breath. He was not going to cry. He was pathetically lost and lonely, but this was the only way forward. Alex opened his eyes and then started to rearrange the room, the bed was in full view of the window and that would not do.

…..

Dieter Sprintz lived and worked in his home. He knew he worked too much, the sad fact was that he had to timetable in his leisure activities, also time for James and time for Alex. Otherwise he would just work. The two boys were saving him from the worst aspects of himself as he really did not need more money. With bitterness he thought of the almost losing everything because of his stupid wish for James to behave perfectly and not disturb him. His son's faults, were not faults at all. Outspoken, sarcastic, free spirit, who had only acted out to get attention. This Alex was much more of an enigma. A child broken and fashioned into a weapon, now so lost without orders he did not know how to function. Alex, who loved order and who fit into Dieter's strictly timetabled world like a silent shadow. No fight, no disagreements, no changes or suggestions from his guest. The therapy team had warned there might never be. Dieter could only provide a safe environment. His will had been changed and capital invested to provide for a household, therapy team and staff to always be available for young Mr. Rider.

His driver had put two sets of clubs in the car and Alex was already waiting in the foyer, as Dieter left his office. His assistant fully aware that he was going to be out for five hours. Nineteen holes on this cool morning, then lunch at the Club. Fresh air, exercise and no phone calls.

The financier could see Alex was nervous. The young man's fists were clenched and a nerve jumping on the teenager's jaw.

Dieter decided to play down the fact this was a big change for Alex, as it was a nice treat to have a golf partner, not just his bodyguard. "You must be patient with me, as I'm not the best at any outdoor pursuit. I like the distraction of golf though, as I strive to better my abysmal parr." Dieter knew that Alex would easily beat him with his excellent hand, eye coordination. "Ivanov and Goodman will be joining us." The two guards a visible comfort for isolation rather than the need for security, when the club itself was exclusively members only for the super rich elite. Dieter had no wish to make small talk with musicians, actors or other boring businessmen like himself. Alex was a breath of fresh air, speaking of easily of Jamie, art, sport, also the word games of his therapists and like all Englishmen, the weather.

Today a game of golf and lunch, maybe in a few months Alex would ski, run and make friends of his own. Dieter could only hope for improvement.

…..

Lia Schultz arrived at Zurich, to see Edward Pleasure was waiting for her. "Welcome to Switzerland, Dr. Schultz. A friend of a friend told me you were on route to debrief Alex."

The woman was tired, not in the mood for games. "Just doing my job, Mr. Pleasure."

The journalist smiled and shook his head. "Alex does not need any setbacks. He's not improving."

The woman could empathise with the family that had lost their one time son to games between agencies. "I have already written my conclusions from the reports already on file. Alex is no threat to any active CIA operations or field personnel. I think Alex needs closure himself. Maybe then he will relax, settle and improve."

"Maybe, you did not know the wonderful boy we offered a home too. The young man you'll be interviewing is a mere shadow of the Alex I knew then." The journalist added bitterly. "You people destroyed a great kid, the CIA did that, not SCORPIA. Remember that when you wash your hands of your teen agent problem."

The house was everything the woman would expect of a very paranoid billionaire. She had been scanned and searched. The security team had been polite but thorough. She was now sat in a lovely sunny room with a cup of excellent coffee with a young lawyer acting as chaperone. A tall, thin young man came in, wearing a t-shirt, sneakers and jeans, all designer. His blond hair was pulled into a ponytail, but what drew her attention was the three parallel raised scars on the young mans inner left arm. The professional signature of Dr. Three, something that should not be on a voluntary patient, only a test subject or a torture victim.

"Hello, Dr, Schultz. I'm pleased to meet you. I have read your list of questions and I am happy to answer them all. I have even typed up my answers for you. Wishful thinking on my part, cause I'd rather skip the face to face Q&A session."

The woman was lost for words, all her assumptions, painting Yassen Gregorovich as the villain was misdirection. The Russian danced to the tune dictated by Dr. Three. The Chinese Psychologist had all the Point Blanc Alumni as allies, as the saviour of Alex Rider. The CIA had been played. The fact was Alex had been purposefully damaged to be this irreparable victim in revenge.


End file.
